‘Johnny in the darbies!’ cried Scanlon, his face flushed with anger. He turned and addressed his followers. ‘Did you hear that? They’ve taken our Johnny off to jail!’
The outcry served as a sort of general signal to the denizens of the Binnacle. As the circle closed in, I remembered hearing the sounds of scuffing feet and the pushing back of chairs. As I braced myself for the broadside soon to follow, three words caught my ears. They were spoken clearly above the tumult: ‘Bully Boy Rasher.’
The circle stopped moving. Scanlon approached Holmes and bent his face close to my companion’s.
‘What did you say?’
‘Bully Boy Rasher,’ said Holmes quietly. ‘Have you heard of him?’
‘You can bet I have – but what of it?’
‘I knocked him out in a glove match two years ago, Mr Scanlon. If your intentions are as I perceive, I would prefer an individual settlement rather than a general brawl.’
Before the astonished giant could reply, a squealing, apron-clad figure dashed between the two men. It was Alf, the bartender.
‘Mister ‘Olmes, sir!’ he piped. ‘It is you, ain’t it? I’m sure if we’d recognized you sooner, sir, there’d ha’ been no trouble, such a friend of the working man as you are, sir. I’m sure our good friends here at the Binnacle haven’t forgotten how you saved Chips Newcombe from the gallows, or cleared the young apprentice Smythe of the burglary charges against him – unjust as they were...’
The mood of the people had changed miraculously; they now gazed with curiosity at this slender, well-dressed man who had acted so nobly on their behalf. Scanlon, half-mollified, inspected the narrow physique of my friend incredulously.
‘You beat Bully Boy Rasher, London’s top middleweight?’
‘Aye, Red, and what a pretty fight it was! At the Cribb Club, was it not, Mr ’Olmes? Such as me aren’t allowed there of course, but a pretty fight, so I heard.’
‘I might say, Alf,’ said Holmes, ‘that from appearances, I’d rather face three Rashers than this man before me.’
These words had a most remarkable effect upon Red Scanlon, who unclenched his fists, took two steps backward, and looked at the floor.
‘You all should know,’ Holmes said in a solemn voice, his eyes sweeping over the entire group, ‘that John Sampson was put in jail largely at my unofficial request. To explain this action, I think I need only ask you two questions. First, are you aware of the fate of Raymond Jenard?’
There followed a grim acquiescence.
‘Secondly,’ pursued Holmes, ‘would any one of you wish the same fate to befall John Sampson?’
There was a vehement denial.
‘Then I must ask you for your forbearance for a short time, Mr Scanlon. If you would be so kind, I would very much like to ask you and your shipmates some questions concerning the recent voyage of the Matilda Briggs.’
The huge man considered a moment, then bade Winkler and Thomas to join us near the fire. He told the rest of the company to ‘shove off’, which they promptly did.
With gentle prodding from Holmes, he related his personal history and the account of the voyage from departure until the night of the crew’s celebration. It was alike in every detail to Sampson’s account. Owing to his predilection for strong drink, his memories of that particular evening were somewhat hazy.
‘There’s not much I ‘member, gentlemen, expect that upon ’wakin’ I felt that I’d been done over with a capstan bar, and right smartly, too.’
‘And none of you was aware of any commotion on deck during the night? Thomas, Winkler?’
They all answered negatively.
‘When were you aware of something strange on board?’
‘When we first caught sight of Jones sneaking food aft,’ replied Winkler. ‘Then of course, we saw the rat itself –’
Here Winkler was rebuked by Scanlon and told to hush. Holmes filled in the narrative related by Sampson, however, and the three men grew confident. All had seen the head of the beast; all swore it was of a rat of fearsome size.
‘... and alike in every detail to a ship rat,’ said Scanlon.
‘You have mentioned that Jones took food into the hold where the monster was kept. What did the bundle look like?’
‘I can’t tell you, sir,’ replied Winkler, ‘for they were always covered.’
‘They?’
‘Yes, there were always two, both of them covered with cotton cloth. One was thrice the size of the other.’
‘That is interesting. What was your impression of the mate Jones?’
‘A shirker, sir,’ he replied. ‘A real laggard, even for an officer.’
‘How about Reverend Ripley – did you gain any lasting impressions of him?’
‘Now there’s a strange one. Didn’t seem to me he was much of a parson. Winkler here overheard him rip out a terrible cursin’ one day below decks, didn’t you, Wink? Cursed the Captain terrible he did!’
Holmes’ face sharpened. ‘Isn’t it odd for a passenger to behave this way towards a ship’s captain?’
‘O’ course, sir! But then, there were many strange things on the Briggs this last one out, weren’t there, boys?’
There was an agreement and a brief chuckle as the men pulled at their mugs.
‘What does Ripley look like?’ asked Holmes.
‘A blondish, pale fellow – an indoors man if you know what I mean. And yet...’
‘And yet what?’ I asked.
‘O, I don’t reckon it’s of any account –’
‘Pray tell me, Mr Scanlon: even the smallest details are of great account.’
‘I was about to say that frail and retiring as he was, he could be quick and agile on deck when the mood struck. Most often, it was in the form of leaping up to the quarterdeck to watch the petrels.’
‘He was fond of them?’
‘Quite,’ interjected Thomas. ‘But he was most keen on the wee creatures, sir.’
‘The wee creatures?’ Lestrade asked in amazement. ‘What the devil are the wee creatures?’
‘Oh sir, the wee creatures that swim about everywhere. Sometimes in the tropics, they glow like a peat fire – practically read a gazette from the light they give off –’
‘I believe, Lestrade, Thomas is referring to various plankton: minute larvae, crustaciae and algae that breed and flourish on the surface of the tropical oceans and prey upon each other.’
‘That’s it, sir: them’s the wee creatures. The Reverend Ripley busied himself by haulin’ them aboard with a net he fashioned from cheesecloth and battens. On a calm day, we could see him at the taffrail, trailing the net aft like a ship’s log. Queerest thing we’d seen in ages...’
‘My dear Thomas – that piece of information is indeed singular – and most welcome. In its own way, it throws considerable light upon the case. Tell me if you can, any of you, what did the Reverend Ripley do with the net and its contents after he hauled it on deck?’
‘Oh that’s easy, sir – that’s the queerest part of all. He would sit on the hatch cover Indian-fashion and dump the net on to the boards. Then he’d watch and poke, and poke and watch as the wee creatures slithered and scratched over each other. All the while, he’d be picking out the choice ones and stuffing them into jars and bottles, which he’d carry down below.’
‘Aye, gentlemen,’ continued Scanlon, ‘and there was more than one of us thought the Reverend must be ailing – calling upon Weiss the cook to brew up his special chowder.’
They laughed heartily – and Holmes almost grinned.
Lestrade grew impatient.
‘Enough storytelling. We must find Ripley and his confederates. A thorough search of these neighbourhoods will be undertaken immediately. All roads and railway stations will be closely watched. In the meantime, I assume that you will offer us every assistance possible in the way of information.’
‘They’ve already been most helpful,’ remarked Holmes, rising. ‘Especially concerning Ripley’s pastime with marin
e fauna. We are looking for three men, together or separate; a nondescript white man, his valet – a Malay named Wangi, and a seafarer named Jones, who is of average stature and appearance. It would seem then, that the most visible is the Malay. I am familiar with several parts of London where such a man might hide, Lestrade, and will be happy to render assistance in that regard. However, there are two major questions still untouched: the whereabouts of the monster rat and the motive behind the multiple murders. Can any of you offer even a partial explanation?’
The three sailors replied in the negative. The only explanation that had occurred to them was that the rat was a fiend, an instrument of the Devil, and had returned to Hell as mysteriously as it had come.
Five
THE HUNTER OR THE HUNTED?
In one of his customary fits of energy, Holmes left the inn directly the interview with the sailors was concluded, leaving us baffled and without the slightest idea of where to go next. Grumbling slightly, Lestrade paid the waiter and summoned a cab. At police headquarters we parted company; I went to my club where I spent a restive afternoon. Returning to our lodgings just before supper time, I heard the sobbing of a woman as I ascended the stairs.
Having prudently knocked, I was immediately shown to a seat beside a middle-aged woman, whose face was all but obscured by the lace handkerchief she held to it.
‘John Watson, this is Miss Beryl Haskins, who has been kind enough to drop round for tea and a chat. There, there, Miss Haskins, your tale convinces me more than ever that the responsibility was not, could not have been yours...’
‘You’ve no idea, Mr Holmes,’ she sniffed, ‘how painful it has been to return home alone –’
‘I can well imagine.’
‘The Allistairs have been so kind, so gracious through it all. Lord knows how much they’re suffering. I expected to be turned out –’
‘Pshaw! Her Ladyship has spoken most highly of you. You are uppermost in their affections. Now Miss Haskins, I agree with them: a holiday is what you want. Do take the evening train to Brighton. I assure you we’ll do our best to resolve this affair as quickly as possible. Now here’s your cab just pulled up. Off you go now, and have a pleasant rest. Au revoir.’
The lady managed a weak handshake and apology to me and followed Holmes to the door. He returned to his armchair and, without waiting for my obvious questions, launched at once into the explanation.
‘As you’ve no doubt surmised, Miss Haskins is in the employ of Lord Allistair. She has been in his service since 1875 when his daughter Alice was born. The two have been inseparable ever since: Miss Haskins was the little girl’s governess and, more recently, had assumed the role of her travelling companion. She was accompanying Alice Allistair on her summer holiday when the girl was abducted. She is now departing for a much-needed rest for she has been, as you have seen, beside herself with remorse.’
‘If I recall the newspaper accounts was not the companion – Miss Haskins – detained on a false errand whilst the girl was kidnapped?’
‘That is correct: it happened, you’ll remember, in a crowded Bombay market place. The girl was forced into a palanquin by two natives and borne off into the throng. No one has seen or heard of her in the ten weeks since...’
‘That’s a long time to keep a hostage...’
‘It is. In fact, it is what worries me night and day. The outlook for her well being is not bright, I’m afraid.’
‘But in one sense the great time lapse may be a good sign; perhaps it has taken the abductors this long to get her back into England. If this be true, then she is surely alive, since no one would waste so much time on a corpse.’
‘Excellent, Watson! I must say the same thought has occurred to me. However, it’s best not to be too optimistic. Remember, pessimists are surprised as often as optimists, but always pleasantly.
‘After leaving the two of you at the Binnacle, I set off on a number of jaunts, one which was a call at the Allistair residence in the Bayswater Road. Miss Haskins was not in when I called, so I requested the brief visit that just took place.
‘I suppose you think it strange that I should continue on the Allistair case, devoid of evidence as it is, when we have our hands full with the present business –’
‘You yourself said it promises to be the most difficult and diabolical one we’ve handled in quite a while.’
‘I’ve no doubt of it. This morning’s events bear that out, surely. Yet the Allistair tragedy has its interesting aspects too. You know me well enough to realize that I generally have sound reasons for what I undertake, and pursuing two lines of enquiry at once may not be as outlandish as it sounds.’
‘Have you any theories?’
‘Actually, yes. But they are too embryonic at present to warrant discussion. Ah – here’s Mrs Hudson with our supper. Despite our hearty lunch, I’m famished. Would you see to the door while I fetch a bottle?’
After our meal, Holmes snuggled into the divan cushions and put a match to the reeking bowl of his clay pipe.
‘You see, Watson, as conspicuous as the valet Wangi is, certainly the giant rat, if indeed it is flesh and blood, is extraordinarily visible.’
‘Not to say horrifying,’ I added.
‘I concur. The mere thought of the monster scurrying through alleyways and over rooftops is appalling. And yet there’s been no outcry – obviously no one has seen it. It is not aboard the Briggs, that much is certain. Has it been destroyed – killed and dumped into the Thames? Or is it caged in some cellar lair, ready to be unleashed upon selected victims, or upon the populace at large?’
‘The thought alone gives me chills. When I think of the remains of the Captain –’
‘Yes, it is a grisly business. But where is the rat? Whether destroyed or taken away, there is the very real problem of getting the animal off the ship unnoticed – no mean task, for we are already familiar with the method of getting it aboard.’
‘In my opinion, Holmes, the rat hasn’t been destroyed. All events indicate that Ripley values the beast highly, for whatever nefarious purpose. Otherwise why would he go to the great pains of smuggling it aboard the Briggs and caring for it throughout an eight-week voyage?’
‘An excellent point. Yet he doesn’t value it for circus purposes – that is to say for exposition, since if this were true, he would be anxious to attract publicity.’
‘Perhaps the animal has an innate value, perhaps for its fur.’
‘If the animal is a rat, Watson, I cannot see any value attached to it. Of course, it most probably is not a true rat. The largest rodent known is the Capabyra, a spaniel-sized aquatic animal that lives in Central and South America. It may be that the animal is heretofore unknown but in any event, it is capable of killing a man and – alive or dead – is no doubt within twenty miles of Blackwall Reach. If the monster is as fearsome and unforgettable as our witnesses have described, it should be difficult to keep concealed. It is my plan to continue the chase tomorrow. To that end, I dispatched two wires today. The answers that will arrive in the morning should be of value. No, Watson, I’ll skip my whisky and soda tonight and go directly to bed. Goodnight.’
Next morning I was first to arise and before Holmes had descended into the parlour I had read the following telegrams which Mrs Hudson brought up:
TRAIL ENDS AT BALFOUR LANE AND WHITECHAPEL ROAD
– GREGSON
The above had been posted in London. The other was from Exeter and read:
YOU ARE CORRECT: NO ABSOLUTE PROOF
– MASON-JONES
Holmes was most interested in the first wire, and promptly set up his large Ordnance Survey Map of London and Environs on his marble-topped table, and spent the first half of the morning poring over it. Although he was not a man to lose patience easily, I could tell by occasional sighs and mutterings that the problem was complex, even for his keen faculties. I left him alone.
‘I shall stop by and call on Mrs Redding, Holmes, and see how she is recuperating. I’ll drop
by Mortimer’s on my return to pick up my pipe. Do you want anything?’
‘Yes, Watson. If you would be so kind, get me four ounces of navy-cut – oh, and while you’re at it, if you’ve the time, stop by the British Railways offices – the one in Oxford Street is closest – and fetch me complete timetables for Bombay and lines eastwards – also a list of depots, offices, and their addresses, will you? That’s a good fellow. When you return, I should be most grateful if you would accompany me to the East End again if time allows.’
I performed the errands. Mrs Redding was recovering nicely from her bout of influenza. I bought the tobacco for Holmes and complimented Mortimer on my new pipe stem. I appeared at our quarters shortly before lunchtime, my arms overbrimming with pamphlets, maps, schedules, and office listings. These Holmes took eagerly, and spent another half-hour poring over them, scribbling notes all the while. Finally, he took a black notesheet and printed a lengthy telegram, which began ‘HAVE YOU OR YOUR STAFF ANY RECOLLECTION...’
We left the flat, took our lunch at Marcinni’s, and proceeded to Whitechapel Road. The intersection of that street and Balfour Lane was nondescript save for its general dinginess and proximity to the river. As there was no policeman or inspector there to meet us (I half-expected there would be), we were left on our own, and Holmes glanced round himself and ambled vaguely about like a dejected urchin. I followed silently, peering into shop windows and through tavern doorways. We proceeded up Balfour Lane, thence in the other direction. We repeated this process in Whitechapel Road. At the end of forty minutes, Holmes leaned against a lamp post, assumed a jaunty air, and asked me if I had any conjectures as to why the trail of Ripley ended at that particular intersection.
‘How indeed do we know it does?’ I asked.
‘Because upon my suggestion Lestrade has employed the rather commendable talents of two of Scotland Yard’s most able sleuths.’
‘You mean MacDonald and Grimes?’
The Giant Rat of Sumatra Page 7